Ivy
“And you say you’ve
read the histories
and scoured the
books and interviewed
the elders but you’ve
come up empty-handed?
Well, he who tells
a bigger tale
would have to tell
a lie
of the Green Man
of Portland.”
~ Daniel Duford
She woke up in the doorway of a coffee shop on NW Glisan. Ivy had hunkered down in the entrance to this particular storefront many times before—so many times, in fact, that she considered the small piece of real estate to be her own personal property, at least between the hours of midnight and five AM. The entrance was eight feet wide by three feet deep; an archway set into an old building, originally constructed in the late 1920’s. The entry was paved with tiles that depicted the Canals of Venice, leading Ivy to postulate that the space was originally an Italian deli or restaurant. The windows of the shop were covered with posters for upcoming musical events at various venues throughout town. Ivy wondered what it would be like to be a singer in one of the bands. Her mother always said she had a lovely voice. Would they even want a singer with a lovely voice in a band called The Screaming Gonads or Wolf Fukken? Probably not, she concluded, although she had never been to one of the shows.
With her head pressed against the glass, Ivy noticed the remaining bits of tape that had once affixed other posters to the window. The sill was littered with poster remnants, thick dust and a few desiccated insect corpses. If she was the actual owner of Buzzby’s Coffee Roasters, she would do a much better job keeping it clean than the current management, she thought. Just as she was considering that the place couldn’t possibly be filthier, she saw that at some time during the night, another homeless person decided the spot would make an excellent latrine and left an incredibly large turd in the opposite corner of the entrance. The store manager would certainly not be happy when he arrived to open the door in an hour. Ivy had witnessed more than few of the man’s tirades over the years and she anticipated a real corker when he saw the disgusting gift left for him to clean up. Ivy imagined that he might not even see it until his Keen loafer was sunk deep into the pile. That would be hilarious. She seriously considering sticking around outside for the show, but she had important things to do and people to see.
Ivy walked through Old Town, past the Chinese Garden, toward the Steel Bridge. It was still early and many of the other homeless people had not yet gotten up and around. So many tarps and tents littered her path, all filled with the slumbering dregs of humanity. When she first arrived in Portland, the homeless population was thriving but much less noticeable: out of sight, out of mind. Today, there was a “crisis”, mainly because it is impossible to ignore a massive tent city when it “suddenly” materializes outside newly valuable parcels of land. Carpet-bagging real estate moguls and Portland’s nouveau riche captains of industry were now screaming for the mayor to do something, anything about the unsightly homeless people bitching up the views from their million dollar condos. “Fuck you, fat cats!” she shouted at the construction cranes on the other side of the Willamette. “Fuck all y’all!”
The Steel Bridge was Ivy’s favorite span of the river. Ugly, squat and sturdy, she felt a certain kinship with the 118 year old structure. Many people would be surprised to learn that the unassuming chunk of steel is the workhorse of Portland bridges, carrying a massive amount of commuters across the Willamette on foot, bike, car and train each and every day. The Steel Bridge was built to last, with its true beauty lying in its utility. “Hello, old friend!” Ivy hailed as she stepped foot on the expanse. “No ships coming in today?” The bridge’s only response was a solid rattle and rumble as a MAX train trundled across.
Ivy made her way down NE Holladay Street until she got to the park. Like clockwork, there was Skook. He was sitting on a bench, beneath a massive Douglas Fir, smoking a cigarette. His long, gray hair and beard made him look like a wizard, especially with his patchwork trench coat and multi-colored scarf. As always, he would pretend that he wasn’t waiting for her. Of course, he was. She was his only friend, but the charade bolstered his pride somehow, she supposed. If it made him feel better about himself to make believe that he didn’t need the friendship of a lowly street kid, she wasn’t going to press the issue.
“Morning, Mr. Skook! What are you doing on this fuckin’ drizzlin’ day!”
“It’s just Skook, no mister involved in my name. You know that.” Skook coughed and summarily spat a ball of phlegm onto the sidewalk. “I’m just finishing off this perfectly good butt that some privileged little shit of a hipster flicked in my general direction. What are you up to, as if I have to ask?”
Ivy plopped down on the bench next to Skook and stretched out with her fingers laced behind her rainbow crew cut. She raised her black combat boots off the ground and wiggled them in the air. “You know me, Skook. These boots were made for walkin’ and I’ve got places to go! Want to come with?”
“Ugh, I suppose I don’t have a damn thing better to do,” Skook grunted. “Just let me finish my smoke and we can be on our way.”
Ivy and Skook wormed their way through Portland city streets and alleys in a seemingly directionless and haphazard route. This had been Ivy’s daily routine for as far back has she could remember. Portland is a city of tight knit, self-contained neighborhoods. Each neighborhood used to have its own character, its own personality. Unfortunately, gentrification had been homogenizing the neighborhoods for the past several years. It was becoming more and more difficult to tell Division from Alberta or Mississippi from Hawthorne. All of the same chain markets, the same chain restaurants, the same chain coffee shops—all pretending that they weren’t chains—were popping up in every corner of the city. Tourists or recent transplants couldn’t tell the difference, but old time residents sure could. Of course, many of the old timers were being slowly priced out. They either moved away or became homeless.
Ivy had a fairly clear idea about what caused people to become homeless: poverty, addiction, mental illness, or something else. Her reason was absolutely in the something else category. She didn’t consider herself to be crazy. She was just compelled to walk for hours each day, searching for something—and she had no idea what that something was. Okay, every time she rolled it over in her mind, it sounded pretty damn crazy. Nevertheless, she would not stop until she found the something, and she knew instinctively that it was to be found somewhere in Portland.
They were quite a sight to behold. Skook, at almost seven feet tall, towered over Ivy’s diminutive frame. Still, no one seemed to notice the pair as they wandered through vacant lots, backyards and patios. Several times throughout their daily journeys, Ivy would get an impression of what she was looking for. The image would lurk in her subconscious, just beyond her grasp. “This is it!” she’d proclaim, while Skook rolled his eyes.
“This is it!”
“That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago. Right before you crawled inside that old doghouse,” Skook declared. “I’m pretty sure this fire hydrant isn’t it, either.”
“Goddamn it, you’re right, Skook. This ain’t it.” Ivy sat down on a curb, drummed her fingers on her knee, and considering her options. “I think I’ll call off the search early today and head back to Old Town, if that’s okay with you.”
The momentary look of disappointment on Skook’s face was barely perceptible. “Hey, this is your party. See you tomorrow.” Without another word, he strode off down SE Division Street. Ivy watched him go until he was completely out of view.
Back in Old Town, Ivy walked briskly among the tourists. It was the weekend and the Saturday Market was in full swing. She strolled by the booths and checked out the wares the street vendors were hawking: t-shirts, hats, junk. “Who buys this crap?” she muttered to no one. She stopped to examine a t-shirt with a stubby-armed Tyrannosaurus Rex holding a sign that said “MEAT IS MURDER” and the caption “T-REX VEGAN.” Definitely trying too hard, she thought.
Crossing the street at Skidmore Fountain, she saw The Girl. The long brown hair and flowery peasant skirt immediately caught her attention. She was breath-taking, as always. Ivy felt compelled to follow her. Several blocks away, The Girl went inside a hemp clothing store. Ivy tried to remain a discrete distance away but held her place just outside the store where she could watch her quarry through the window. She could also see her own reflection in the glass. The juxtaposition stunned her. What was she doing? No way in hell would this beautiful girl be interested in the short, dirty street rat she was looking at. No one had ever told Ivy she was pretty, or even cute. Not that that kind of superficial admiration was important to her, but still, it would certainly make first impressions and introductions easier.
Dejected, Ivy headed back to Buzzby’s. There was a new poster hanging up in the window. THIS IS NOT A HOMELESS SHITHOUSE! Apparently, the store manager was more than a little upset by the package left for him overnight. She sighed. The sign would likely just inspire more of the same, or perhaps even a broken window. Ivy decided it would be best to find a new place to bed down for the night, at least for the time being.
Walking up NW Glisan toward The Pearl District, Ivy passed by a building that she had never noticed before. The Greenwood was chiseled into the rough stone above the entrance. The Greenwood? Ivy was trying to remember exactly what building previously occupied this particular block but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. There had been so much destruction and construction over the past year, it was hard to keep track. It certainly didn’t look like a new building. The style of architecture was clearly Late 19th Century—the workmanship looked like it, too. Why would somebody go to the trouble of putting up a new building that looked so old and rundown? No. There was definitely something very wrong here. Perhaps the building had always been here and she was just confused. She had definitely lost her bearings while walking around this city before, she reasoned.
Ivy ascended the stone stairs and studied the entryway with more than just a bit of trepidation. The front doors appeared to be solid oak. Animals and trees were carved into the surfaces. The artwork was crude but clearly masterful at the same time. The main features were a large stag on the left door and a stately Douglas Fir on the right. The doorway was framed by beveled glass windows on each side. Ivy pressed her nose against one of the panes to get a look inside. She couldn’t believe who she saw! The Girl!
The Girl looked directly at Ivy and smiled. Suddenly, flowers exploded from her hair in an incredible bouffant of color. “What the holy FUCK?” Ivy shouted, falling back from the window and almost slipping off the landing. She lunged for one of the door handles and tugged it open. The door was much heavier than she anticipated and again the inertia almost sent her down the stone steps. She gathered her footing, and composure, and bolted into the hallway. The Girl turned left, just out of view, leaving a trail of flower petals behind her.
Ivy sprinted after The Girl and followed her into a small, sparsely furnished apartment. She wouldn’t have notice much about the décor because standing in front of her was The Girl. A kaleidoscope of vibrant colors was emanating from her hair, licking at the ceiling like flames. The colors transformed into flowers and then shifted back to a shapeless, blending palette. The Girl reached out her arms toward Ivy. Her smile widened and her eyes twinkled with delight. “I love you,” she proclaimed.
Ivy stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity. She was unable to comprehend what she was seeing; terrified, fascinated and truly mesmerized. “I love you,” The Girl repeated. This time, there was a hint of pleading in her voice that woke Ivy from her stupor.
“I, I love you, too,” Ivy replied, not fully certain she had actually spoken the words or just thought them.
“Come sit with me,” said The Girl as she motioned toward a small, antique settee.
Ivy obeyed and joined The Girl on the couch. She was even more beautiful up close than Ivy had imagined possible. The supernatural goings-on with her tresses didn’t seem to matter anymore. Ivy was transfixed on that beautiful face.
“My name is Daphne, and you are Ivy. I’ve been waiting for you for such a very, very long time. What took you so long to find me?”
Ivy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was this what she had been searching for all these years? It didn’t seem possible. The Girl leaned in toward Ivy, posturing for a kiss. Ivy noticed that Daphne’s skin was flawlessly smooth, like a porcelain doll. She touched The Girl’s face and found that her skin had a texture that was not exactly…skin-like, and when she pressed gently against Daphne’s lips, there was no warmth and a lack of elasticity. Still, Ivy was enveloped with an aching desire. She held the kiss for several minutes; savoring the sweet breath, mingling her saliva with the strange, syrupy taste of The Girl’s perfect mouth.
The room seemed to lose its shape. The corners disappeared as strange growths and nebulous shoots morphed from the walls. Lush ferns and thick moss appeared on every surface, while the fountain of flowers in Daphne’s hair continued to shed colorful petals everywhere. There was the distant call of a mockingbird and a babbling stream. “Am I in heaven?” Ivy thought.
“If you want this to be heaven, then it shall be,” The Girl replied aloud.
Suddenly, Ivy realized that something about the situation seemed too good to be true. Fake. The strange being sitting beside her was not The Girl—that she knew for a certainty. The Girl never even noticed her before. She looked right through her on the street. This creature resembled a human, but clearly was not. The hair was standing up on the back of Ivy’s neck. A warning alarm was going off in her head. There’s something very dangerous about this situation, said a little voice in the still sensible part of her mind; the part that was not yet enraptured by this celestial, ethereal vision. Ivy could feel tiny, insistent tendrils climbing up her ankles, while something foreign infiltrated her consciousness—something very persuasive.
Looking down, Ivy saw that mushroom-like growths were slowly encasing her feet, anchoring her to the now shapeless floor. Filled with sudden revulsion and horror, she kicked herself free and pushed The Girl away. “No!” Ivy screamed. “You’re not real! This is a trick!”
Ivy bolted from the room just as colorful tendrils burst out from the The Girl’s entire body. The appendages were solid, had mass, weight and grasped at Ivy, attempting to restrain her. Ivy struggled against the grip and managed to pull herself from the room before they were able to hold her fast.
As Ivy ran down the hallway, the flower petals in her path darted toward her, stinging her shins and knees. A torrent of rain started to fall from the ceiling and the floor was soon wet and slick beneath her feet. A howl began to rise from the room and Ivy knew that The Girl was coming after her in hot pursuit. She heard the tentacles pounding the floorboards behind her, inches away.
“I LOVE YOOOOOU!” shrieked an inhuman voice. “YOU BELONG TO MEEEEE!”
Ivy reached the heavy doors and with all the strength she could muster, burst through to the landing. This time, she tumbled head over heels down the stone steps, landing hard on the sidewalk below. When she looked back at the entrance, the Greenwood was gone. In its place was an empty lot with nothing but a construction crane and scattered piles of building materials. A sign proclaimed FUTURE HOME OF THE BRIDGETOWN APARTMENTS. DON’T YOU WANT TO LIVE HERE?
“Fuck no, I don’t want to live here,” muttered Ivy. “Not by any stretch.”
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there,
wondering, fearing, doubting,
dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”
~Edgar Allan Poe
Ivy found Skook sitting on the curb in front of Revolution Hall, at the intersection of SE Stark Street and 14th Avenue. His long legs extended so far into the street that bicyclists had to swerve into traffic in order to avoid hitting them. Skook appeared to be enjoying his role as a nuisance just a little too much, daring the bikers to say anything with his cold, dead stare.
“What the hell happened to you?” said Skook, inspecting the numerous cuts, scrapes and abrasions covering Ivy’s body. “You look like you fell into a hops thresher.”
“You’re never going to believe me, Skook. I don’t even think I believe it myself.”
“Try me,” Skook replied, pushing his long, thin body up from the sidewalk; brushing a few rotting leaves and some of the pervasive Portland grime from the back of his coat. “You might be surprised.”
As they walked up SE Stark, Ivy told Skook about The Girl and the Greenwood. Skook listened intently without asking any questions. The only response he provided was an occasional grunt, while Ivy continued her narrative uninterrupted.
They passed a zombie house at the corner of SE Stark and 18th. These empty houses had been considered a blight in Portland for decades. Many were once grand, beautiful Craftsman homes but fell into disrepair when they were abandoned by their owners for various reasons—typically, foreclosure or ill-advised real estate investment. Recently, with the Portland real estate market booming, these houses were being torn down in great numbers and replaced by modern multi-use condo units. The entire city was changing into a landscape of concrete boxes with little charm and character remaining.
One of the meth-head squatters staggered onto the dilapidated porch and shouted a few choice, misdirected profanities at Skook. With a look of annoyance on his face, Skook simply waved his hand in the man’s direction and the addict fell silent, grasping at his throat like he was choking on a spicy Pok Pok fish sauce wing.
By the time they reached the entrance to Lone Fir Cemetery, Ivy had finished her tale. “Come on, Skook, say something! You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”
“No, you are definitely not nuts, Ivy. What you saw was very real and now I have to show you something.” Skook extended an inviting flourish toward the entrance of the cemetery. “Let’s take a walk in here.”
An expression of suspicion and confusion immediately crossed Ivy’s face. “What the hell, Skook? You’ve always told me to never go inside the cemetery. You said it was dangerous.”
“It is very, very dangerous, Ivy, but it is also time for the truth.”
Ivy followed Skook through the wrought iron gates and onto a paved, tree-lined path. Lone Fir Cemetery is one of the oldest, continuously used cemeteries in Portland. Located in the middle of a densely populated SE Portland neighborhood, Lone Fir is home to 25,000 interred souls. Ivy kept some distance between herself and Skook. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her oldest and dearest friend—her ONLY friend—but she was seized with a deep feeling of dread and foreboding.
Skook turned off the path and proceeded into the midst of the headstones with great, purposeful strides. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a small, tilted marker and respectfully bowed his head.
“This is it,” Ivy whispered. Her eyes welled up with tears as she tentatively approached Skook’s flank. “Oh, my God, this is it.”
Ivy fell to her knees before the headstone. Loud sobs and wails came from somewhere deep within her core. She grimaced and pulled wildly at her hair. She beat the ground with her fists. The paroxysm continued unabated for a quarter of an hour. Skook stood silently and dutifully by her side, hands clasped at ease behind his back like a solemn guard.
Ivy crawled to the headstone and gently caressed the faded inscription with her index finger.
ROBERT IVERSON
BORN: FEBRUARY 2, 1899
DIED: DECEMBER 20, 1918
“It was the Spanish Influenza,” Ivy said through her sobs. “The flu killed me when I came home from college for Christmas. Everyone thought it was just a bad cold. My mother must have been heartbroken, Skook. She had such high hopes for her son. I was going to be the first in our family to get a college degree from the University of Oregon. She was so proud of me.”
Skook placed a comforting hand on Ivy’s trembling shoulder. “Do you remember everything?” he asked.
Ivy shook her head in the affirmative. Yes, everything made sense now. Following her death, no one ever noticed her or talked to her because no one could see her! She was more than just lonely, she was INVISIBLE! She could be in Forest Park one minute and in Old Town the next because she was nothing but ether. Time was not linear for her. A day, a week, a month, a second; there was no mortal reference point. She looked down at her body. The cuts, scratches and bruises were gone. She realized that there was no corporeal substance to her form. In death, she could be exactly what her soul was intended to be, so that’s what she was.
“Yeah, I do remember everything, Skook. I’m a fucking ghost! I’ve been wandering around this fucking city for ONE HUNDRED YEARS! I’m finding that pretty hard to process, Skook, and then there’s the fact that you knew the whole time. Didn’t you? YOU KNEW! Are you a ghost, too?”
“I know you have many questions, Ivy, and I will do my best to answer them. First, know that I am not like you. A spirit of sorts, yes, but I was never a mortal human being. I’m something much different than you. I had to keep you from finding out the truth until the time was right. You are very special, Ivy, and there are forces that want to use you because of something only you can do. Those forces are evil, Ivy, and you encountered them today. They are finally coming for you. They are coming for all of humanity. Normally, my kind is ambivalent about human existence, but the replacement that these forces have in store is much, much worse than man.”
“What is it that I can do, Skook?” Ivy implored. “Who are they and why did they wait until this long after my death to come for me?
“That can all be explained later,” replied Skook. “But first, there is a transformation that needs to take place and it’s a choice that you have to make. No one can force you to join this fight. Ghosts are actually very rare, Ivy. Most people just simply cease to exist when they die, and you can stop existing as a singular consciousness, too, which is the ultimate transformation, if you choose. Your life force will peacefully rejoin all those who have gone before you—your friends, your parents, every human soul that has ever existed. I can help you make that journey, if you so desire.”
“What is the other choice, Skook? Because ceasing to exist doesn’t sound too amazing.”
Skook did not reply. Instead, he stood back from the grave and began to change. His shape twisted, coiled and stretched. Hooves appeared where his hands and feet were just seconds earlier. His face transformed into that of an animal and sharp, pointed appendages grew from the top of his head. Within mere moments, Skook was gone and in his place stood a magnificent white stag.
“Behold,” Skook declared. “What you see is the true projection of my being or, at least, the MOST TRUE projection. Do you want to live again, Ivy? This is the time to make your choice. You can walk among mortal men and women again in your MOST TRUE form! Is that your desire?”
Ivy remained kneeling before the white stag. “YES!,” she proclaimed. “I want to live again!”
“Then it will be so. This might hurt a bit,” answered Skook, as he pawed the cemetery soil with his sharp hoof.
Similar to her experience at the Greenwood, mushroom-like tendrils began to grow up from the ground beneath her. This time, however, Ivy was not afraid. The shoots quickly enveloped her. Ivy felt the threads of her existence unravel and begin to mesh with the tendrils. Skook did not lie. It was painful. It felt like she was being torn to pieces and knitted back together with sharp, stinging needles. New flesh was joined to new bone. Organs began to function. A heart began to beat. Nerve endings fired messages of excruciating pain into a newly formed brain. The pain finally became unbearable and Ivy lost consciousness.
When she awoke, Ivy found that she was lying prone and naked upon her grave. She was cold and shivering. It had been a very long time since she had felt anything. She sat up and examined her body. Her flesh was pale and covered with goose bumps. She wiggled her toes and fingers. She touched the dirt beneath her and relished the texture. She touched her own skin; her face, her breasts, her vagina. She was ALIVE!
Ivy found it difficult to stand. She finally got to her feet and lumbered like a zombie out of the cemetery. It was far too cold to be outside without clothing. She felt incredibly weak and knew that she could easily die from exposure. It was Fall, but the temperatures were already in the high 30’s. She staggered up SE Stark toward a pizza parlor. Cars traveling down the street began honking and someone shouted something unintelligible from a passing bike. As she approached the pizza place, a young woman exited the doorway. It was The Girl!
Ivy reached out her arms and stumbled forward. “Please, please help me.”
The Girl recoiled in horror. “Get the fuck away from me, you crazy, naked bitch!” she screeched.
A young man wearing a tan cardigan rushed out of the restaurant. He quickly wrapped a wool topcoat around Ivy’s shivering body and directed her inside.
“Oh, my God! Are you okay?” he shouted. “I saw you come out of the cemetery. Did someone attack you?”
“Attacked me…” was all Ivy could say in response.
“Stop gawking and call 9-1-1!” barked the young man. “Daphne! Wake the hell up and call the cops!”
Across the street, an unseen figure watched the drama unfold. The small green man, smiled and flew to the top of a tall spruce. “I see you, Ivy! I see you! We’ll play soon!”
